


When There's Reckoning To Be Reckoned

by bitch_I_might_be



Series: Thin Ice 'Verse [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Burr and Washington are the only people with braincells in this, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon? Who is she?, Charles Lee Being a Dick, Charles Lee simply does not vibe with the code duello, Historical Inaccuracy, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, I say that as if I knew anything about the code duello, John Laurens and Charles Lee's Duel, John and Alex are two halves of a whole idiot, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Self-Indulgent, The one thing Alexander Hamilton and I have in common is that we're both hoes who do what we want, Washington is still pissed but a different flavour, Watch me bullshit my way through the medical procedure in this, Whump, i guess?, once again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-07
Updated: 2020-11-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:15:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27432613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitch_I_might_be/pseuds/bitch_I_might_be
Summary: Charles Lee is running his mouth about their general, and both Alexander and John are of the opinion something needed to be done.Washington is less than impressed with Lee's attempt to slander him and with his son's ideas about how to handle the situation, not that his word had ever been enough to stop Alex from going through with whatever he'd set his mind to.Or, John and Alex challenge Lee to a duel, and the consequences are bloody.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, John Laurens & George Washington
Series: Thin Ice 'Verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2004361
Comments: 12
Kudos: 114





	When There's Reckoning To Be Reckoned

**Author's Note:**

> This is a kind of continuation to Thin Ice, it's set in the same universe and the very aggressive shovel talk is referenced a couple times.  
> Washington just wants his son and his idiot boyfriend to listen to a single word he says, is that really too much to ask? Meanwhile, Alex and John just hear the Wii music whenever Washington opens his mouth.  
> Anyways, hope you like it :)

John learned very quickly that despite Washington's fierce protectiveness of Alexander, he didn't let him get away with everything; not by a long shot.

They sat together in the tent that had been dubbed “headquarters” by everyone who worked in it by daylight, but it had emptied a while ago, and the three of them were alone. Nighttime at headquarters was really the only period Washington and Alex could let their guards down and act like father and son, and John was as thrilled as he was surprised the general didn’t mind him there.

He suspected that while Washington still wasn’t entirely comfortable with Alex and him being together, he tried to adapt to their situation by watching them interact. The fact that they weren’t able to do anything inappropriate while in his immediate presence was an added bonus.

It could have been a night like every other, but unfortunately for all of them, it wasn’t. Alex was worked up, for good reason, but that didn't make it any more pleasant of an experience.

“If you had heard what he said about you-”

“If I had, I assure you, I still would not care,” Washington said, patient like John had never seen the man.

Alexander’s eye twitched. “But, Pa, the things he’s _saying_ -”

“Are of no consequence to you,” he interrupted once again. John bit back a sigh and shifted in his seat, trying to make himself more comfortable. They had been there a while. This topic was very well discussed by now. And yet, they would not stop; it seemed stubbornness was an inherited trait after all. It was like watching two mules in a tug-o-war–when one of them made a move, the other dug his heels in and refused to give ground.

“You are both my commanding officer and my _father_ , how are the things he’s saying not of consequence to me?” he demanded. Alex was the only one on his feet, in front of the general’s desk, where the man sat and nursed a glass of whiskey.

“Well, for one,” Washington said, slowly turning the glass in his fingers. “he’s not said anything about you. If he had, I would advise you to leave him be, but I also wouldn’t stop you from chewing him out as you see fit. And as I have expressed multiple times throughout this evening, I don’t care what Lee says about me. I’m sure people have said worse.”

Alex opened his mouth to protest, but Washington raised his hand, and he clicked it shut. John was impressed anew every time the general just did that, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Anyone who had actually tried to get Alex to stop talking would like to disagree.

“We have a war to fight. This is a petty issue at best. Lee can run his mouth all he wants, just wait and see what it gets him.”

“And what if people start listening to his idioticies? If they start repeating them? What do we do then, Father?” Alexander’s brow was furrowed, and his fists clenched; John knew how frustrated he was getting, and he got it. When he had heard Lee–of all people–talking about their commander like that, he had to use every ounce of self-restraint left in him to not turn right around and clock him in the jaw. Instead, he had grabbed onto Alex and dragged them both away before things could escalate, like the mature adult he channeled from time to time.

Washington took a sip of his drink. “Nothing,” he said at length.

“How can you not see this for the problem it is?” Alexander spat, his voice raised. The general set the glass down harder than necessary, the sloshing liquid shining amber in the yellow light of the oil-lamps.

“Do not take that tone with me, young man. And sit down, your relentless pacing is unnerving me.”

Alex narrowed his eyes and stood in silence for a moment before he dropped down into the seat he had vacated earlier that night, close enough to John he could reach out and take his hand if he wanted to, and crossed his arms over his chest, huffing something under his breath. He could be such a child, John thought, a taken smile coming over his features.

John slid his foot closer to Alexander’s chair and nudged his leg playfully, catching his eye and grinning at him. Alex’s shoulders lost some of their tension, and he managed a weak smile back.

The general watched this exchange without any external reaction–John had to give it to him, he had come far in the past couple weeks. At the beginning, so much as John’s hand on his son’s shoulder would have earned him a withering glare.

“We could solve this one on one,” Alex suggested after the few moments he had taken to calm himself. The general made a derisive sound in the back of his throat, close to a snort.

“No.”

“But-”

“I said no,” he said, with a finality to his words that would have stopped almost anyone in their tracks. Almost.

Alex straightened in his seat. “I heard,” he retorted, just to have the last word.

“Did you?” the general said with a raised eyebrow. “I do recall the beginnings of a very obnoxious sounding rebuttal from your mouth mere moments ago. Did I imagine that? John?”

John blinked, reminded that he was an actual person in the room and not just a silent observer. “I do believe I heard that too, Sir,” he said.

Alex stared at both of them in turn, mouth slightly agape, incredulous. “I am not _obnoxious_ ,” he said, in John’s humble opinion, very obnoxiously.

“Of course not, darling,” he said and exchanged a look with the general. They did that, sometimes, when they joined forces in teasing Alex. That was when they got along best.

“To be honest, I liked it better when you were scared of him,” he said with an artful roll of his eyes. 

“Me too,” Washington said, hiding a small smile behind his glass.

They went back and forth like that in friendly banter for another couple of minutes, before the general caught Alexander suppressing a yawn exactly once and declared them far overdue to turn in for the night that instant. It was sweet, he thought, how he watched out for him.

On the way back to their own tent, Alex nudged his shoulder against his own and gave him a sidelong look. “Hey,” he said.

“What?” John asked with raised brows and a poorly contained smile.

“I know what we could do about Lee,” he said, hushed. They were out in the open, after all. John’s smile faltered a little.

“Didn’t the general just say we were not to do anything?”

“Well…” Alex said, drawing the word out. “Technically speaking, he forbade me from solving the issue one on one. You do need two people on either side for a duel, though.”

They ducked into their dark tent, and John lit a candle before he faced Alex again; he looked very pleased with himself, the little minx. Alex had already secured the tent-flap closed behind them, so John let himself reach out and cup his lover’s cheek and settled the other arm around his waist, pulling him close. “Aren’t you a clever boy,” he mumbled against his lips. Alex hummed, probably in agreement, and John kissed him, once, before he pulled away again.

Alexander shot him an annoyed look. “You are such a tease, John Laurens,” he huffed.

“I wasn’t done with the conversation, darling,” he responded and flashed a sweet smile. “As I was about to say: a very elegant loophole you carved out, indeed, but what makes you think I will let you take part in a duel?”

Alex raised a singular eyebrow. “Since when do I need your permission to do anything?”

“I’m not saying you need my permission, sweetheart, I’m saying I can and will tell your father should you challenge Lee to a duel.”

Alexander wormed his way out of his arms before he had even finished the sentence, a flash of anger like lightning in his eyes. “What the-”

“Alex,” he interrupted. “Hear me out.”

He stood a good three feet away from John, arms crossed, and stared, hard.

“You are not challenging him. I am,” he said and held his hand out. The anger melted from Alexander’s eyes and flowed from his frame. He took his outstretched hand and squeezed tight, stepping back into John’s space.

“Don’t, John, don’t do this for me. You are too important.” He spoke softly, like he was afraid they would be overheard.

John drew him closer by their joined hands, until he could feel the warmth emitting from Alexander’s body. “You are far more important than I could ever be,” he said, and meant it.

“No, John, what if you get hurt? What would I do then?”

“What if _you_ got hurt?” John shot back and pulled him closer still, wrapped his arms around him. “I would never be able to forgive myself. And what about your father? Do you think he would like to see his son lost to something he disapproves of in the first place? He would probably be thrilled to be rid of me, to be honest, so just let me do this for you, darling.”

Alexander looked at him for a long while, studied his face in the dim candle-light, like he was- dear God, was he memorising it? When he finally broke his gaze away, Alex buried his face in the crook of John’s neck and wrapped his arms around his back, and just held on.

“I love you, John,” he said quietly and breathed a kiss against his neck.

“I love you too, Alex,” he mumbled back and closed his eyes, just enjoying the warm press of Alexander’s body against his.

* * *

As expected, it wasn’t very hard to get Lee to agree to a duel. The man was desperate to stir up trouble, and when General Washington himself wouldn’t react to his taunts, he wasn’t above making do with the next best thing–two of his most important aides.

Everyone of rank rose long before the sun, so they had time to propose the challenge, for Lee to acquire both a second and a medic, and to find duelling grounds far enough from camp to not be disturbed, but not so offside that they couldn’t get back quick if someone got hurt, all before the first rays of sun climbed the horizon.

John stood out in the field, Alex beside him and their opponents a safe distance off, when dawn broke. They clasped hands and John pulled him as close as was safe in the presence of others. 

“Be careful. Be safe,” Alex said in a low voice.

John shot him a smile. “Aren’t I always? Don’t answer that,” he added when Alexander’s face morphed into a mask of doubt.

He sighed, eyes going soft. “I love you.”

“Love you too, darling.”

They separated, and Alex turned and made his way to the middle of the field, Aaron Burr, Lee’s appointed second, coming up to meet him.

They talked for just a minute; John could tell they wouldn’t be able to negotiate a peace. Alexander’s back was to him, but he was tense, and his fingers twitched as though to form a fist from time to time. Shots would have to be fired.

When Alex had stalked back to his side, he shook his head. “Lee won’t apologise, and Burr is being spineless, as always.”

“We knew it would come to this,” John said, half a smile on his face. Alex did his best to smile back.

“That, we did.”

They walked back to the middle of the field together and came face to face with Burr and Lee.

“Lee,” John acknowledged with a downward turn of his lips.

“Laurens,” he said back, without much more enthusiasm. His gaze shifted to his side. “Hamilton,” he sneered.

“Charles,” Alex said, his eyes narrowed and mouth twisted like he had tasted something bitter on the name. John would have laughed at the expression on Lee’s face when Alex called him by his given name if the situation had been less serious.

Burr sighed and rubbed at the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Gentlemen. If you insist on going through with this debacle, might I suggest to just get it over with? We don’t have all morning.”

“I’m ready,” John said.

“Ready,” Lee agreed. Alex and Burr handed them their guns, and they pointed them at the ground. The weight of the cool metal in his hand was familiar, it gave him a sense of control over the situation, made his heartbeat pick up with anticipation. His fingers tightened around the grip of the gun. He could do this.

Their seconds made their ways back to their respective sides of the field, but farther off the middle, as to not accidentally get in the way of a gunshot. He saw Alexander nod to the medic on his way past from the corner of his eye, and the man turned around. Showtime.

He turned his back to Lee, and Lee did the same.

“Ten paces!” Burr’s voice rang out over the empty field, and John’s body started to move of its own accord. _One two three_ , the adrenaline pumped through his veins and got him fired up, _four five_ , the blood rushed in his ears, _six,_ he barely felt the bite of early morning chill on his cheeks, _seven_ \- the air exploded around them, a shot echoed across the field and to camp like a shockwave.

John whirled back around to see Lee with his gun outstretched in front of him, smoke curling from the barrel, at the same time as he heard Burr’s shout of “Hamilton!”

 _Oh no_. His head snapped to the side where he’d last seen Alex, and- he was on the ground, shit, no, that wasn’t right- John dropped the gun and took off in a sprint, the few seconds he needed to reach Alex too long, _too goddamn long_ , slid to a halt next to him and plunged down to his knees. 

Alex looked up at him, a pained grimace of a smile on his face, but he was _awake_ , awake and alive and bleeding, blood seeping through his own fingers where they weren’t clamped tight enough over the hole in his shoulder.

“Bastard shot me,” he ground out through grit teeth, and John felt stupid, _stupid_ , he should have seen this coming, and now Alex was hurt, and- he had to slow the bleeding. He ripped his coat from his shoulders, numb to the cold air, peeled Alexander’s hand from the wound, put the coat over the hole and _pushed_. A scream tore from Alex’s throat, hoarse and pained and horrible.

Finally, Burr and the medic arrived by their side, and where the fuck had they been, John had been there for what felt like hours, surely they couldn’t have been that far away.

“Laurens, get off, make space for the doctor,” Burr said, breathless, and clapped a hand on his shoulder as though to pull him away.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not fucking leaving him, Burr, I’m staying right the fuck where I am, you go and deal with Lee,” he yelled, not taking his eyes from his lover, on the ground, hurt, and shook Burr’s hand from his shoulder.

The medic had ripped open his satchel during their exchange and now pried John’s hand and the blood-soaked coat off the wound. Alex was breathing too quick and not deep enough, he was going into shock, he was going to pass out- the medic shoved a thick piece of leather at John and selected a few pieces of equipment John didn’t want to think too hard about, and doused them in alcohol.

“Put that between his teeth, or he’ll bleed to death from a severed tongue,” the man ordered and gestured vaguely at John’s hands.

John shuffled until he could lean over Alex’s face without being in the doctor’s way, and cupped his cheeks, swiping his thumb through tear-tracks and cold sweat alike. “Hey, Alex,” he said, as soft as possible, voice shaking. “Open your mouth, darling.”

The doctor didn’t even seem to notice the endearment slip past his lips, he was preoccupied with cutting Alexander’s shirt away from the entry-point. Alex did open his mouth a little, and John pushed his jaw open wider, until he could slide the thick leather between his lover’s teeth. He didn’t seem too thrilled about it, but John was just glad to even get a reaction from him at all.

The medic just finished removing the last layer of blood-crusted fabric from around the wound when a commotion caught both of their attentions, a feat John had thought impossible at the moment. He glanced away from Alexander for only a second, but when he saw what was going on, his stomach dropped like a cannonball into a bay.

General Washington. Of course he would be there, he had expressed his distaste for duels and explicitly stated he didn’t want in-fighting, of course he would have gone to see what was happening. By the looks of it, he was busy chewing out Lee, who had been easily identifiable as a principle by the gun he still held in hand, with Burr trying to explain the situation from the side-lines, with debatable success.

He was ripped from that contemplation when the doctor turned to him again. “We need to hold him down, he will start thrashing as soon as I begin the procedure, go get Burr or the general, you won’t be able to hold him on your own.”

He couldn’t leave Alex, not even for the thirty seconds it would take to get one of the men. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t- the hand of Alex’s uninjured arm closed around his wrist, and he stared up at him, eyes hazy and tearful. He shook his head, his meaning clear.

If his heart hadn’t cracked the second he spotted Alex on the ground, that would have been the breaking point. Before he could voice any of his reservations, the doctor let out a harsh breath and sprung to his feet himself, strode over to the gathered men, and silenced them all with the confidence of a pissed off physician.

Burr followed him back without hesitation and dropped to the dirt at Alexander’s feet, but Washington stood very, very still.

John locked eyes with him for just a moment, but he could see the accusations clear as day, the same that swirled around his own head like a maelstrom. _How could you let this happen? Is this stupid dispute more important than Alexander? Are you satisfied now?_

He turned his focus back to Alex and grasped both his arms, pressing them firmly into the ground, and Burr did the same with his legs, mouth twisted like he might be sick.

The general joined them, white as a sheet with his jaw clenched hard enough John feared he might crack a tooth. His eyes lingered on the blood on the grass and John’s discarded coat, before they settled on Alexander’s tear-stained face.

He kneeled down with the rest of them, and stroked a gentle hand through his son’s messy hair. Alexander cracked his eyes open and sobbed something around the gag between his teeth that could have been ‘Pa’, but John couldn’t bring himself to dwell on that.

“Hold on tight, gentlemen, I’ll have to get this bullet out, and he won’t like it one bit.” That was all the warning any of them got before the doctor dug his tweezers into the wound, and Alex _wailed_. His whole body jerked, trying to get away, and it took everything in John to hold on, to keep him still, to let this agony wash over the man he loved.

“Dear Lord,” Burr whispered somewhere to his right, and John couldn’t help but agree.

He had to be in so much pain, all because of this stupid idea neither of them had wanted to talk the other out of.

His screams didn’t quieten as the seconds dragged on, they were loud, and strong, and sounded like they tore his throat apart on the way out; John suspected he would only stop when he had screamed himself hoarse.

On his other side, Washington’s stoic demeanor crumbled. His face twisted like he felt every single stab and twinge and tear Alexander did, and he stared down into his son’s face, gaze not straying once, eyes wet with unshed tears. John couldn’t blame him. He knew he himself would break down as soon as Alex was safe.

Alexander’s agonised sobs faded into a soft whimper, and John looked up to see the tweezers had reemerged, coated in slick blood that belonged in Alex’s body and nowhere else, a small, round piece of metal pinched between them.

“Now, I’ll have to stitch him back up. Won’t be as bad as the first part. Don’t let go,” the medic said, a paragon of calm.

The stitches weren’t as bad as the tweezers. Alex flinched every time the needle pierced his skin, but he wasn’t writhing and wailing any longer.

When the stitches were done, the doctor said they could let go, and instructed the general to hold Alex up in a sitting position so he could dress the wound. Washington just seemed relieved to be able to hold him, to feel his son’s chest rise and fall with every precious breath.

John took a moment to breathe deeply, then gathered the scattered pieces of himself back together and coaxed Alexander’s mouth open so he could help him get the gag out.

Burr sat and watched, unmoving. He obviously didn’t know what to do with himself, but the doctor hadn’t dismissed him yet, so he waited.

The medic let out a long breath. “All right, General Washington, Colonel Laurens, you know how to care for a gunshot-wound, do you not? No flowing water, use a damp rag to clean it, best once every two to three hours in the first couple days. If it shows signs of festering, like being hot to the touch, swollen, or red, contact me or another medic immediately.” He paused to let that sink in. “And try to keep him from writing as long as possible, not that I have any hope for you to succeed with that.” He ducked down and tapped Alex gently on the side of the head. “Get well, Hamilton,” he said, or rather commanded, and started wiping off his utensils, not sparing them another glance.

John supposed that was their dismissal.

No one moved for several too quick heartbeats, but then Alex let out a shuddering breath. “I can walk,” he said, his voice wrecked almost beyond recognition. John wished he wasn’t awake, in spite of how relieved he felt that he was. If he had just passed out, he wouldn’t have had to suffer through that torture.

Washington shifted his grip on his son to one arm, shoved his other underneath Alexander’s legs and stood, without comment and seemingly deaf to the half-hearted protests from Alex.

He walked off. John and Burr exchanged a set of weary glances and trailed behind at a distance; only then did he notice that they were alone on the field, except for the doctor who did a masterful job at ignoring their existence.

He only got as far as opening his mouth to ask before Burr cut him off. “They took Lee back to camp. He’s to be placed under house-arrest for disobeying a direct order, as are we, probably, but I think there are more charges to be added.” Burr’s sharp, dark eyes settled on their general’s broad back some way in front of them. “Lee was stupid to fire at Hamilton. General Washington loves that loudmouthed bother like his own.”

John tried to chuckle, but it sounded fake and wet and upset. “Ain’t that the truth.”

* * *

The general wasn’t yelling, and it unsettled John. He should be yelling. Cursing them out for having been so stupid, so reckless, for disobeying orders, for forcing his hand in this.

But he didn’t. He sat, quietly, perched on the edge of Alexander’s cot, his face buried in his hands, silent.

Alex watched him with worry reflected in his tired, red-rimmed eyes from his place on said cot and shot John helpless looks from time to time. John sat on his own cot opposite the general, hands clasped loosely as if in prayer, and did his best not to tap his foot or drum his fingers. The silence was heavy, but it felt thin, fragile. Breakable. John didn’t want to be the one to shatter it.

After a long while of this, Alex shifted like he was trying to shuffle himself into a sitting position, and John made to reprimand him, but Washington spoke first, tearing down the walls of silence that separated them.

“Don’t you dare, boy. You will not move from that spot.” He raised his head to regard Alexander with a scathing look. To John’s absolute and mortal terror, his cheeks were wet.

Alex froze, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and John saw the tears gather on his eyelashes from several feet away; the grief and hurt on his face were instant, like some primal response to seeing his father’s pain.

“I’m sorry, Pa,” he said, his voice raw. John had never heard Alex sound like that, but he had never heard him scream like he did just then, either.

“Sorry?” Washington repeated, somewhere between incredulous and angry and devastated. “Sorry, he says.” He seemed to say that to no one in particular and rubbed a hand over his face, taking away some of the tears. “You could have been killed, Alexander. Your life is at stake _right now_. You are prone to illness, you know that, and if that wound festers-” The general broke off and breathed deeply, gathering himself. With every word out of his mouth, something in John’s chest coiled itself tighter. He swallowed, mouth dry, tongue like sandpaper.

“And thus, you will not be moving. You won’t leave this cot until you have my personal, written permission. You will stay right there and not move and not strain yourself, and you will _heal_. This is an order from your commander, as you apparently don’t listen to a word your father tells you. Is that clear, young man?”

Alex nodded, mute, blurry gaze fixed somewhere by John’s feet.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.”

“Yes, Sir,” Alex said, quiet but audible.

General Washington let out a long breath. “Good,” he said, and reached out to brush Alexander’s messy, sweat-soaked hair away from his forehead. “You scared me, dearheart.”

Yeah, John thought, understatement of the year.

“I’m sorry, Papa,” Alex repeated, voice getting smaller still. A few tears fell from his eyelashes, and Washington wiped them away with a sweep of his thumb. “John,” he said, a little louder, and he snapped back to attention.

“Yes, darling?”

“I’m sorry. This is what you were trying to prevent.” The general shot him an unreadable look at that, but he could explain later.

“Not your fault, Alex. The bastard should have kept to the rules and fired at me. Fucking coward.” Thinking about what Lee had the audacity to do alone brought John’s blood close to boiling. He grit his teeth and fought off the ugly sneer, for Alex’s sake.

Washington raised his brows, a shadow flitting over his features. Was this new information to him? What exactly had Burr rambled on about back on the field?

“Challenging Lee to a duel in the first place was a mistake. You should have known better, the both of you, or at least _listened to me,_ but no.” He heaved a tired sigh. “You never listen, do you? No matter now.”

Alex parted his lips to speak, but his father shook his head, a more forgiving expression back on his face.

“Hush, now,” he said, stroking a gentle hand along Alexander’s cheek. “Rest. Try to sleep.” He bent down and pressed a kiss to Alex’s brow, then removed himself from the cot and stood. “And, for the love of God, _do not move_.”

Alex cracked a small, exhausted smile. “Yes, Sir,” he rasped.

“Good. John, with me,” he said, demeanor back to the commanding officer who had to do damage control right that instant. John shot up from the cot and made to follow as the general pushed the tent-flap aside and was gone, but he changed course and ended up at Alex’s bedside instead. He shot him a soft smile and pecked his lips.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

He bounded after Washington, who waited for him just outside the tent and gave him a look like he was the most predictable idiot in the colonies. The general took off, not turning once to see if John followed–he didn’t have to, John would follow him anywhere, even though the man threatened him with execution every time he looked at his son too sultrily.

“Explain, Laurens, now,” he ordered. They were headed for headquarters, John could tell.

“After we left last night, we decided to challenge Lee to a duel,” he began, the words feeling redundant as he said them.

“After I told you not to do anything, yes,” Washington cut in, an edge creeping back into his voice. John didn’t mind; he had dealt with worse from the man.

“We set that in motion this morning before sunrise, Lee got Burr to be his second, and we did everything by the rules, until Lee decided he didn’t care for that,” he spat the last part, words tasting like dirt on his tongue. “Sir, I was the principle on our side. Lee was supposed to shoot at me.” 

The general stopped mid-stride.

John kept going until he caught up and stood next to him. “You didn’t really think I would let Alex do something so tremendously stupid, did you, Sir?”

Washington’s eyes hardened as he looked upon him, and John was transported back to the night that seemed so far away, yet only lay a few weeks behind them, when he had made all the things he was prepared to do to John should he misstep painfully clear. He had made the unfortunate habit of considering himself in relatively safe waters concerning the general as their relationship developed–a mistake, as moments like those made quite obvious.

“The outcome is the same, Laurens. Alex is hurt, and you shouldn’t have let it happen.” He continued in his tracks, leaving John standing in the middle of the way, feeling like he had taken a horse-kick to the chest. He took a few steadying breaths and shoved the guilt threatening to overtake him and log him down into a small compartment in his mind, one that he only ever contemplated in the dead of night, when Alex was asleep or absent.

John arrived at headquarters just a bit after the general. Burr was already there, gaze cool but brow pinched with worry.

The rest of the aides did their usual work, but they looked up when they made their entrance, curious. They wouldn’t have the full story, not yet, but bits and pieces were most likely already circulating around camp; a duel was by no means a daily occurence, after all, nevermind the fact that under normal circumstances, the day Alexander Hamilton wasn’t at his desk before most people were even awake would be a cold day in hell. Even if they had by some miracle not heard of the duel, Alex’s absence was reason enough to worry.

“General Washington, did you want something?” the nerve-grinding voice of one General Lee drifted into headquarters, and before John knew what he was doing, he gave in to the cold urge in his chest to _maim_ , brushed past Washington, who made no attempt to stop him, and threw his whole body at Lee, tackling him to the cold ground and scrambling on top of him before he could even think about fighting back, and punched him square in the face. Repeatedly.

The dull smack of knuckles on bone was the only thing the heard, that and Lee’s grunts of pain; his fists burned where the skin split on the man’s stupid face, and his hands came away bloody when someone grabbed him around the torso and hauled him off Lee. That someone turned out to be Aaron Burr, whose tense shoulders suggested he was done with the day that had barely even begun and in desperate need of a stiff drink.

“What the _fuck_ , Laurens?” Lee seethed from the ground, voice nasal, holding his hopefully broken, bloodied nose. He had gotten a good strike to his eye, too, John noted with satisfaction. With any luck, it would be swollen shut in a few hours.

General Washington stood just past the open tent-flap, and judging by Burr’s incredulous look at the man, he had for a while, and had done absolutely nothing to stop John from pummeling Lee into the ground. Served the asshole right.

Washington watched as Burr helped Lee back up with the same detached interest one might scrutinise an insect with.

“General Lee,” he said, tone cool but polite, spoken like a man who was forced to converse with someone far beneath his own person. “you took part in a duel, against my explicit orders. Not only that, you broke the code duello and fired a shot at a witnessing party. You _shot_ my chief aide de camp. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Lee snorted, and winced. John allowed himself a bit of a smirk at that.

“Do I have anything to say? With all due respect,” the way he said it suggested the amount he referred to was none. “we all know the duel was Hamilton’s idea. Laurens just picked up the gun because he would shoot his own damn foot if that arrogant son of a whore asked him to. Hamilton was hiding like a coward, and he got what he deserved.”

John bristled, and he took half a step forward before Burr darted from Lee’s side to his to hold him back. The general didn’t say anything for a long moment, but his presence got colder by the second, until John thought Lee was about to freeze into a block of ice under Washington’s blank stare.

“You are dismissed, Lee,” he said at last, not a hint of emotion in his voice.

John ripped his gaze from Lee, who had the audacity to look smug under all the blood smudging his face, and gave the general a weary look. He had threatened John with certain death for lesser crimes.

“Sir?” Burr asked, uncertain.

“I knew you would agree, Sir, that your little lap-dog needed to be taken down a notch-”

“You misunderstand, Mister Lee. I am not dismissing you from this encounter, I am dismissing you from your service. I hereby dishonourably discharge you from the continental army. Tallmadge, write that down!” he called back into the tent without turning around.

“Yes, Sir!” came the answering call.

“Go home, Lee,” he said and walked away, back into the tent. Burr stared after him, mouth slightly agape, and John watched with childish glee as Lee blinked in confusion and held his still bleeding nose, now without rank or command, in the middle of a military encampment he was no longer part of.

John clapped Burr on the shoulder and went after the general, who had settled at his own desk and pretended, albeit convincingly, to read the correspondence that had come in during the night.

“As for your punishment, Laurens,” he said without looking up. “You are suspended from work for the next two weeks. Consider yourself Hamilton’s primary care-taker for an unspecified amount of time to come.” 

What a punishment, John thought, fighting off a grin. He saluted. “Sir!”

“Dismissed, Colonel.”

John left headquarters behind him and set off for their own tent. The next couple of weeks would no doubt be a challenge, with Alex getting frustrated and difficult about not being allowed to do anything and having to keep to his bed, and being in pain on top of that, but John had never been a man to back down from a challenge–and Alexander Hamilton happened to be his favourite challenge he had taken on yet.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
